


Worth the Embarassment

by Jess_B_Fossil



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Anal Fingering, Boys In Love, Dirty Talk, Lingerie, M/M, Modern AU, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, PWP, Phone Sex, Plot What Plot, Sexy sweaters, Shameless Smut, Smut, handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-01-17
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:01:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22289824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jess_B_Fossil/pseuds/Jess_B_Fossil
Summary: “Would you send me a picture?”Felix hesitates. This kind of request isn’t new, and it’s not like they never indulge. Felix has an entire folder of spicy pictures from Sylvain, carefully packed away for whatever lonely moment causes him to pull them out. But for some reason, this time it’s embarrassing. Maybe it’s the sweater, maybe it’s how he looks in it, maybe it’s because he likes the look of it.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 8
Kudos: 259





	Worth the Embarassment

**Author's Note:**

> Recently I drew my first ever NSFW art, and it was of Felix wearing this ridiculous sweater. So naturally I wrote smut to go with it. I'm personally not a purveyor of either phone sex OR dirty talk, so I hope this turns out okay. Bwahahah. 
> 
> The picture can be found here, on my [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BaldFossil/status/1214450719866138624)

**_Worth the Embarassment_ **

_\---_

_“You got my package, right?”_

Felix rolls his eyes, but can’t help the small quirk of his lips. “Yeah, I got it.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the phone line and then, _“And?”_

“You can’t expect me to wear it,” Felix huffs. 

_“You’ve worn worse--”_

“Stop it right there, Sylvain. You and I both know that this isn’t the same as that terrible _kingdom swordsman_ get-up that you bought once at the Halloween Store--”

 _“Hey,”_ Sylvain cuts in. _“I remember distinctly how much you liked wearing that.”_

Felix chews on his lip for a moment before looking in the mirror. The _truth_ of the matter was that he is _absolutely_ wearing Sylvain’s stupid gift. The sweater definitely isn’t something that he would have ever picked out but… Well, Sylvain sent it and he’s been gone for nearly two weeks, and while Felix would never, ever, _ever_ admit to it, he misses the stupid man terribly. 

And so, the sweater went on as Felix regarded fond memories of Sylvain. 

“I liked what happened as a _result_ of wearing that,” Felix finally admits. “But this… this isn’t the same Sylvain. It’s so… _feminine_.”

 _“Okay, I’ll give you that one,”_ Sylvain mutters across the line, and Felix can just imagine the pink, embarrassed flush that _has_ to be plastered across his face. _“But I bet that you’d look amazing in it,”_ he continues, voice silky smooth, and Felix has to think about their eighty year old neighbor to stop the heat that’s pooling in his groin. 

“I look amazing in everything,” Felix snaps childishly. 

_“Absolutely,”_ was Sylvain’s immediate response, his tone soft and affectionate. 

Felix sighs. The sweater is flattering in its cut and color. The deep wine reminded him of Sylvain’s favorite shirt, the color dark and elegant against his fair skin. The knit is soft and snug across his skin, twin slits along the front, tied together with neat little bows. Creamy skin pokes out from the open sections, along with dusky nipples, and Felix can’t help the little smirk that comes across his skin.

_“Felix?”_

“I haven’t gone anywhere.” He turns around to survey the backside, at the open back of the sweater where it’s tied together before ending just at his buttocks. His cheeks are round and tight looking, perfectly framed by the rich burgundy knit. It’s a good look and--

 _“You’re wearing it, aren’t you?”_ Sylvain suddenly asks him, voice quiet and Felix can practically _hear_ the smirk that’s plastered across his face--

“Of course not,” he replies, but his words sound weak and there’s that tell-tale crack that happens when he lies, and Sylvain chuckles into his ear through the connection. 

_“I knew you’d like it,”_ he purrs into Felix’s ear. _“All bark, but no bite. Tell me Fe, does it look good?”_

Yes, yes it does, and Felix is embarrassed to admit that he’s come to like the lines that the sweater weaves around his lithe figure. It hugs around his hips and ass, accentuates the best of his features and-- 

_“Would you send me a picture?”_

Felix hesitates. This kind of request isn’t new, and it’s not like they never indulge. Felix has an entire folder of _spicy_ pictures from Sylvain, carefully packed away for whatever lonely moment causes him to pull them out. But for some reason, this time it’s embarrassing. Maybe it’s the sweater, maybe it’s how he looks in it, maybe it’s because he _likes_ the look of it--

“One moment,” he murmurs, and there’s a catch of breath on the other end of the line. Sylvain hadn’t expected for him to agree so quickly, and normally he’d be correct. Felix is a prickly kind of man and it takes _coaxing_ for him to respond to sexting in kind. 

It’s usually just tons of dirty photos from Sylvain’s end, rousing enough frustration in Felix to finally let loose and indulge. 

Felix pulls the phone away from his ear and flicks on the camera, holding it over his shoulder. He tries to cock his hips at a good angle, aiming to capture the perfect roundness of his ass, and the way the light hits his skin. If he’s going to cave into Sylvain’s ridiculous demands immediately, he might as well put in a good effort and look as desirable as he can manage. 

He picks the one with him smirking right back, an upturn of his lips as he looks over his shoulder with haughty authority. His skin is pale with a blush, warmed by the bedroom lights, and the knit of the sweater pulls tight across his backside.

Felix sends it to Sylvain without a second thought, turning back to the mirror proper before pressing the phone to his ear once more, biting his lip in anticipation and--

 _“Felix,”_ Sylvain groans into his ear, voice deep and already half gone, and suddenly there’s heat pooling in the pit of Felix’s stomach, because if there’s one thing that he cannot, _cannot_ ignore, it’s that _tone._ The one where Sylvain’s gone dark and husky, mouth curved dangerously around well placed words praises, eyes dark and pupils blown wide.

Thinking about their neighbor Vera isn’t helping anymore, and Felix is annoyed at his hardening length, at his pink cheeks, at his cock jutting out from underneath the edge of this _ridiculous_ garment. At the way Sylvain’s breath hitches at the mere sight of him in a picture. 

At the way Felix waits for more words to tumble from Sylvain’s mouth, his hand shifting downwards, downwards, _downwards--_

 _“Are you touching yourself?”_ Sylvain suddenly asks, like honey in his ear. 

“No,” Felix snaps, but he’d been close, he’d been _so close_ to grasping his aching cock, waiting for Sylvain to say more. His hand stays paused just below his belly button, hesitating, _waiting_. 

_“You should,”_ Sylvain replies smoothly. _“And you should show me,”_ he continues. 

“You planned this,” Felix accuses, but he can’t stop his fingers from wrapping around his hot skin, fingers tugging gently at the right places. The touch isn’t enough, but any more would be too much too soon, and he’s not about to embarrass himself over the phone for an unsatisfying quickie. 

_“Planned? What, me? Sending you a particularly sexy sweater, imagining you in it as you touch yourself, wishing that it were me doing the honors instead? Never. Darling, do you even know me?”_

Sylvain’s pulled out the word _darling_ , which means he’s holed up somewhere now, touching himself as well, and Felix nearly whines at the thought. “Insatiable,” he says instead, but his words lack bite as his breath hitches, his fingers stroking his length once, _twice_ \--

 _“Only for you,”_ Sylvain murmurs. _“Always for you.”_ There’s a pause and then Sylvain continues. _“Fe, show me.”_

“Ridiculous, getting off on this,” Felix says.

Sylvain manages a clipped laugh, but then there’s the brush of clothing and a belt clinking to the floor, and Felix’s mouth goes dry at the image of him that runs through his brain. Sylvain, sprawled out, powerful thighs and long legs barely contained by the size of whatever couch, or chair, or mattress he’s laid upon. Sylvain, fingers gripping his length, ghosting along the rock hard and flushed skin there, as Felix watches with fervor. 

Sylvain, regarding him with such love and affection that Felix has to grip his own cock tightly at the base before letting go abruptly, because even in his wildest thoughts, it’s still enough to tip him over the edge with little effort. 

_“Please,”_ Sylvain asks kindly, and Felix finds that he can’t deny him what he requests. 

He tells him to wait a moment before pulling the phone away. This picture is easier to take, the angle less awkward. He holds his cock proudly in his hand, the tip red and leaking, wanting and waiting. He smears the precome around with his thumb, the head of his length glistening in the soft glow of the light above him. 

It’s a good look and he’s no longer embarrassed, even wearing the stupid sweater-- he _wants_ Sylvain to see this. 

_“Goddess above, Fe,”_ Sylvain moans at the sight, and Felix can picture him, leaning back in his bed, hand tightening around his cock, expression pinched as he watches Felix stroke himself slowly. It’s a game they play often enough-- to watch, but not touch-- but it’s worse when you can’t really see and you can only _hear_ , and you have to imagine the rest. 

Felix moves to the bedroom at Sylvain’s prodding, settling into the pillows and mattress, spreading his legs indecently as he waits for that honeyed voice to flow through the earpiece once more. He’s put the phone on speaker and lays it next to his head, only a breath away. 

_“I miss you,”_ Sylvain tells him and Felix huffs.

“You’ve been gone longer before,” he intones, but he misses him too; he misses his stupid face, and the stupid way that he makes breakfast in the morning, and pulls open the blinds suddenly to wake him with a startle. He always misses Sylvain, starting with the moment that he leaves his sight. 

Sylvain knows this though, humming gently into his ear, his breathing uneven. “Are you touching yourself?” Felix asks him, biting his lip at the thought and dragging his fingertips along his length slowly. 

_“How can I not? The thought of you drives me wild and the pictures were even worse. Truly Fe, you kill me in the best of ways.”_

“Tell me,” Felix demands. Sylvain is usually the one who wants to know, the one who asks what he’s doing with quiet words and utterings of praise. But this time Felix _wants,_ and he asks with reddened cheeks and his hand squeezing tighter around the head of his cock. He pulls the sweater up around his chest and out of the way.

 _“I bet you look perfect,”_ Sylvain purrs, _“Stretched out on the bed, that sweater pulling at your skin so perfectly. I should be embarassed by how hard I am just at the thought of it.”_

“You’re never embarrassed.”

There’s a laugh, low and dark in his ear, followed by a hitch of breath. _“You’ve caught me, darling. I could never be embarrassed at the thought of you, the way you look, how you feel around me.”_ There’s a low moan and Felix’s head falls back at the sound of it, eyes closed and lips parted as he just _imagines. “My hand doesn’t do you justice,”_ Sylvain admits. _“It feels good, sure-- but it’s not you, it feels nothing like you.”_

“Sylvain,” Felix starts, but then swallows his words. 

_“Do you want a picture?”_ Sylvain asks him, and no, _no_ , he doesn’t. He wants him to keep talking instead and that’s what he demands, before pitching sideways and digging through the bedside table drawer. 

_“Naughty,”_ Sylvain murmurs, and Felix can hear the smirk slapped across his face. _“But I like you like this, just listening and taking it in. What are you imagining?”_

Felix is imagining a lot of things at the moment, his fingers slick with cold lube. He’s impatient though, his fingers slipping down between his asscheeks as he rearranges himself for better reach. 

_“Fe?”_

“You,” Felix breathes, his fingers circling his rim before one presses in. He can’t help the sudden intake of breath and he hopes, he _prays_ that Sylvain can’t hear it. His fingers are too slim, he thinks, pressing the digit in and out. He adds another probably too soon, hissing slightly at the pressure and the familiar sting. Felix prefers the solid thickness of Sylvain’s, the way that he slowly moves them, pulling and dragging at him until he’s a writhing mess on the bed. 

_“Felix,”_ Sylvain says to him, his voice warm and inviting. And then-- _“How many?”_

Felix’s fingers pause and he laughs at the absurdity of the question, because of course Sylvain knew, he could read him like a fucking book. “Two,” Felix breathes, “But it’s not enough.” He presses his fingers in deep, keening when he manages to hit that spot.

 _“Perfect,”_ Sylvain tells him, _“Really, the stuff of dreams. Tight and warm around me, making those beautiful sounds.”_

Felix moans at his words, his fingers scissoring gently, catching on his rim and pulling at the muscle with delicious friction. His other hand glides over his cock, so hard he’s nearly bursting. It’s good, it’s so good, it’s _too good_ . “I’m almost--” he breathes. Almost, not quite, _but not far either_. 

Sylvain moans in kind, and he can hear the slick motions of him fisting his own cock, a quiet rhythm in the background of the call. _“Can you manage another?”_ he asks Felix. _“Can you do a third, imagining that it’s me? Imagining that I’m the one filling you up, that I’m the one to bring you over the edge.”_

Felix does as he’s told, slipping in a third finger, moaning loudly as a result. “Fuck,” he hisses and his body is practically on fire. 

_“That’s it,”_ Sylvain coos, his voice comforting and warm and so fucking loving. Felix pumps his fingers with fervor, but it’s not the same, it’s not even close, but-- 

_“You’re almost there,”_ Sylvain says, his voice pitching higher. 

Felix tips over the edge, hips stuttering as his fingers still. His other hand grips his cock loosely, fingers skittering along his burning skin as his release coats his abs. Felix can’t help the sigh he releases as he pulls his fingers out gingerly, or his pleased groan as he leans into the pillow in a boneless puddle of satisfaction. 

Sylvain says nothing, but Felix can hear the telltale, slippery sounds from his end. His lips curve into a smile as he turns towards the phone. “Always so good to me,” Felix tells him. “Always exactly what I need.”

_“Fe--”_

“Tell me, how do I feel?” Felix asks, beyond the point of embarrassment now. “How good am I for you?”

Sylvain lets out a sharp gasp, punctuated by a quick moan. _“Perfection,”_ he manages, the baritone of his voice unusually high and Felix realizes that he’s gone, he’s barely there, he’s almost fallen over that edge as well. _“Tight and warm and Goddess above, I can’t get enough of you. Fe, I love you, I--”_

Sylvain is always loud when he comes and this is no exception. Felix’s lips curl into a rare smile as Sylvain loses himself to the pleasure, feeling quite proud that he’s pulled such filthy rhetoric from him. Sylvain breathes heavily on the other end of the phone, and Felix is already coming down from the high of giving completely to yourself. 

_“Felix, that was--”_

“Entirely your fault,” Felix cuts in, fingering the sweater once more. “Truly, this sweater is an awful thing.”

 _“Awful,”_ Sylvain repeats tiredly. 

“I had _plans_ today,” Felix replies with mirth. “Things that I had to do. Things that I’m too tired to do now.”

 _“My poor darling,”_ Sylvain sighs. _“I suppose all that’s left to do is stay on the phone with me."_

It isn’t often that Felix hears such a request. Sylvain is out of town enough for them to get used to the distance, but it’s rare for him to be so… needy, let alone voice it. It warms Felix’s particularly cold heart. 

“I suppose that I can manage that,” he replies, trying to sound as annoyed and disinterested as he can muster, but he knows that Sylvain sees right through it. 

_“Clean up and get changed."_ He pauses for a second, and continues with, _“And don’t throw out that sweater. Not until I can see it properly.”_

Felix has already pulled it off, folding it neatly before tossing it into the laundry bin. No, the sweater wouldn’t go anywhere, it was now a beloved article of clothing. Not that Sylvain needs to know that. 

When he settles back into the mattress, phone pressed close to his cheek, he sighs. Sylvain’s in the middle of a long-winded story that he’s half listening too, and Felix suddenly interrupts him. “I love you,” he says quietly, and Sylvain pauses in his monologue, processing the words. 

Felix is rare with his open affection, but the moment seemed right, and he _does_ miss him. Sylvain doesn’t answer immediately, but he can see that smile that is surely plastered across his face. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Have questions? A burning need for answers? Have a story idea? Just want to talk Sylvix? Don't forget to check out my [Tumblr](https://missmarquin.tumblr.com/), and drop an ask!
> 
> Also, follow me on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/BaldFossil)


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